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he Incomparable Creator, when this WorldHe did create, created First of AllThe First Intelligence—First of a ChainOf Ten Intelligences, of which the LastSole Agent is in this our Universe,Active Intelligence so call'd; The OneDistributor of Evil and of Good,Of Joy and Sorrow, Himself apart from Matter,In Essence and in Energy—his TreasureSubject to no such Talisman—He yetHath fashion'd all that is—Material Form,And Spiritual, sprung from Him—by HimDirected all, and in his Bounty drown'd.Therefore is He that Firmán-issuing ShahTo whom the World was subject. But becauseWhat He distributes to the UniverseHimself from still a Higher Power receives,The Wise, and all who comprehend aright,Will recognise that Higher in The Sage.His the Prime Spirit that, spontaneouslyProjected by the Tenth Intelligence,Was from no Womb of Matter reproducedA Special Essence called The Soul—a ChildFresh sprung from Heaven in Raiment undefiledOf Sensual Taint, and therefore call'd Salámán.And who Absál?—The Lust-adoring Body,Slave to the Blood and Sense—through whom The Soul,Although the Body's very Life it be,Does yet imbibe the Knowledge and DesireOf Things of Sense; and these united thusBy such a Tie God only can unloose,Body and Soul are Lovers Each of other. What is The Sea on which they sail'd?—The SeaOf Animal Desire—the Sensual Abyss,Under whose Waters lie a World of BeingSwept far from God in that Submersion. And wherefore was it Absál in that IsleDeceived in her Delight, and that SalámánFell short of his Desire?—That was to showHow Passion tires, and how with Time beginsThe Folding of the Carpet of Desire.And what the turning of Salámán's HeartBack to the Shah, and looking to the ThroneOf Pomp and Glory? What but the ReturnOf the Lost Soul to its true Parentage,And back from Carnal Error looking upRepentant to its Intellectual Throne.What is The Fire?—Ascetic Discipline,That burns away the Animal Alloy,Till all the Dross of Matter be consumed,And the Essential Soul, its Raiment cleanOf Mortal Taint, be left. But forasmuchAs any Life-long Habit so consumed,May well recur a Pang for what is lost,Therefore The Sage set in Salámán's EyesA Soothing Fantom of the Past, but stillTold of a Better Venus, till his SoulShe fill'd, and blotted out his Mortal Love.For what is Zuhrah?—That Divine Perfection,Wherewith the Soul inspir'd and all array'dIn Intellectual Light is Royal blest,And mounts The Throne and wears The Crown, and ReignsLord of the Empire of Humanity. This is the Meaning of This MysteryWhich to know wholly ponder in thy Heart,Till all its ancient Secret be enlarged.Enough—The written Summary I close,And set my Seal:
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